


One Good Kiss

by hpdm4ever, MessiFangirl (hpdm4ever)



Series: Ramessi 2019 [3]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: BFFs, Banter, Developing Relationship, Drinking, FC Barcelona, Friendship, M/M, Pizza, Real Madrid CF, Sexual Tension, Teasing, teammates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 17:45:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17923448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpdm4ever/pseuds/hpdm4ever, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpdm4ever/pseuds/MessiFangirl
Summary: "You shouldn't be here," Messi breathes, holding the door only half open as if he's not sure he should open it all the way. He's not dressed in much, wearing an old Adidas t-shirt that's unraveling at the hem and what looks like an even older pair of Argentina sweats that sit low on the hips. His bare feet poke out from beneath them, and there's a bandage wrapped around two of his toes. "I thought it was a joke when they said you were here.""Do you think I give a fuck about what I should or shouldn't do?" Sergio asks, hands on either side of the door frame in an effort to keep from barging in without an invitation. He's wearing one too many layers, sweating from the way he'd pumped up the heat in the car, and tired of everything. He wants the invitation, and he's pretty sure he'll get it, but he's also impatient as fuck. "You gonna let me in?"





	One Good Kiss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yulin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yulin/gifts), [LeoDios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeoDios/gifts), [prompt_fills](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prompt_fills/gifts).



> Ummmmm?
> 
> Leo missed a penalty against Valladolid on 2/16 and Sergio got carded against Girona on 2/17.

"You shouldn't be here," Messi breathes, holding the door only half open as if he's not sure he should open it all the way. He's not dressed in much, wearing an old Adidas t-shirt that's unraveling at the hem and what looks like an even older pair of Argentina sweats that sit low on the hips. His bare feet poke out from beneath them, and there's a bandage wrapped around two of his toes. "I thought it was a joke when they said you were here."

"Do you think I give a fuck about what I should or shouldn't do?" Sergio asks, hands on either side of the door frame in an effort to keep from barging in without an invitation. He's wearing one too many layers, sweating from the way he'd pumped up the heat in the car, and tired of everything. He wants the invitation, and he's pretty sure he'll get it, but he's also impatient as fuck. "You gonna let me in?"

Messi lives in a pretty secure neighborhood and Sergio had only gotten this far because the guards at the gate had admitted he'd been recently added to the list. That information had been a pleasant surprise, and Sergio made a mental note to do the same once he'd returned to Madrid. That said, security had called his arrival up to the house anyway, and Messi was already at the door when Sergio had pulled up in his borrowed car.

"I'm not--," Messi says, running a hand through his hair uncomfortably before tugging on his ear. "Sergio, you shouldn't be here. I'm not alone."

Sergio flinches.

It's like being hit in the face and it hurts like hell after the day he's had, most of all because he never expected Messi to say that. Not after the heart to heart they'd had, not after that night of fun, and certainly not after the flirty messages Messi sent after Sergio's Valentine's Day gifts. Granted, there were no promises made, and Sergio had been the one who told Messi to go out and get laid. But still. There's a number of things running through his mind and all of them are incredibly vicious, because Sergio lashes out when he's hurt, but Messi is standing there and looking at him with those dark eyes and--

"Luis is here, and we were having dinner," Messi continues, somehow unaware of Sergio's inner turmoil, "and I wish you'd just called me because I could have gotten rid of him. But now, I mean, we're only halfway through our pizza and I can't just kick him out." He looks almost sheepish. "I can't, Sergio."

Sergio's grip on the door lessens, the anger disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. "Oh," he says dumbly, feeling like an idiot for jumping to conclusions so quickly. If it had taken Messi six months to get any action after Cris, it didn't really make sense to assume he'd get more twice in a week. "I thought you meant," he says, when Messi looks at him in confusion, "'company.'" He waggles his eyebrows and leans a little closer. "You know," he adds in a lower voice.

Messi's cheeks turn pink and Sergio grins.

"No," Messi confirms, looking down at his toes and then back up again. "I wouldn't, I'm not..." He heaves a giant sigh like he's not even sure what to say to that. "Just Luis. Because we'd had a shitty weekend. And we wanted to unwind. We're not even really supposed to be having pizza at this point during the season, but what the hell, right?" He sounds like he's at the end of his rope, and Sergio understands that, but he's not going to back down.

"You want to compare weekends?" Sergio asks dryly. "Don't tell me you haven't been keeping track of the results, because that would be a lie." Messi's silence speaks volumes, and Sergio nods. "That's what I thought." He sighs too, able to hear the television on in the distance, along with what must be Suárez laughing. "Is it just him?"

Messi looks up at him, body still in the doorway. "Yes," he says quietly. He opens his mouth and then licks his lips, looking over his shoulder for a quick second. "I mean," Messi says, the blush becoming a little more extreme as he faces Sergio again, "you could--he knows mostly everything that happened. Between us."

Sergio hums, because he expected as much with Suárez obviously being one of Messi's closest friends. But he also wants to know what 'mostly everything' means. "Alright. So then," Sergio continues, "you gonna let me in?" He's cooling off in the cold now, but he can't deny that he'd like to be able to lose his jacket and relax a little. And he can wait until Suárez leaves. "I'll be nice."

Messi eyes him. "Alright," he says, finally opening the door wider. And when Sergio drops his fingers from the doorframe and takes a step closer, Messi backs up awkwardly to let him in. How someone so graceful on the pitch can be so awkward off of it, Sergio will never know.

Sergio shouldn't, but he takes the space he's given, too much of it, really. "You look good," he says honestly, letting his eyes flutter down Messi's casual clothes again. If they linger on the exposed areas, like the tattoos, or the strip of skin where the t-shirt doesn't quite meet the sweats, that's not entirely Sergio's fault. "Comfortable." He can't stop looking, though, so he gently reaches out and tugs on the hem of Messi's shirt to pull it down further and stop distracting him.

It's getting to be ridiculous how much he's being distracted by Messi these days. One taste shouldn't have been enough to get him hooked, and yet...

"Thanks," Messi says softly. He looks up at Sergio again, taking in the brown leather jacket overtop a cream-colored sweater and a plaid scarf. "You look good, too," he starts, reaching up slowly to take off Sergio's cap, "like you're going somewhere other than here."

"Well," Sergio says, fixing his hair without much effort, "I'm not. I was in public before I was here, you know. And I have a reputation, which you wouldn't know anything about. Obviously," he teases, taking the cap from Messi's hand and tossing it onto a sideboard. It narrowly misses a vase of yellow lilies. After a second, he unwraps his scarf and throws that too, before shrugging off his jacket and laying that on top.

"It's nice. You look nice, I mean," Messi says, still staring at him as he pushes the sweater up on his forearms and then fiddles with his watch. "You're going to make us look bad in comparison. Me and Luis," he clarifies, gesturing down at his sweatpants. "We're definitely underdressed next to you. I wasn't expecting company. Or 'company,'" he says, mimicking Sergio's tone from before.

Sergio wants to say something about how Messi had better not be expecting any kind of 'company' for a good long while, but he figures he should play it cool for now. Especially with Suárez here.

Still.

Messi's eyes are flickering over Sergio, studying just as intensely as Sergio had studied him. And while Sergio doesn't have that much bare skin, Messi's pretty fixated on Sergio's hands. "You should be comfortable in your own home," Sergio says, thinking. To test his theory, he raises his wrist into the light, checking the time before wiggling his fingers to make sure his rings are on right. "I'll admit to lounging around in sweats when there's nobody around."

"Yes... Do you--," Messi says, licking his lips. "Can I get you a drink?" He's still staring and it's only when Sergio clears his throat that he jerks his attention back to Sergio's face. "A drink?" he repeats, apparently trying to be serious. "We have water or beer, or I think I've got wine if you'd prefer."

It's flattering to say the least, not that Sergio's completely unaware of his own charms. He'll be the first to say that he's kept himself in great shape and he knows that Messi's quite aware of that. Sergio also went to great lengths to show Messi what he could do with those fingers, so Messi's fixation is greatly understandable.

What to do about all of that, is the question Sergio has now.

The noise of the television is louder all of a sudden, once Sergio kicks the still-open door closed behind them. It means that Suárez can't be too far away, and might be able to hear anything further Sergio says. "Sure, I'll take a drink," he agrees, making sure to keep his voice lowered just in case. "But before that, Leo, I'll take a little something else."

Messi doesn't have time to do anything before Sergio's carefully herding him up against the sideboard. The vase shifts across the surface as they bump into it, but doesn't spill. Everything could wait until after Suárez leaves, but Sergio doesn't know how long that will be and he finds he doesn't want to wait any longer. And Messi must be of the same mind, because he reaches to clutch at Sergio's shoulders, going up on tiptoe just as Sergio's lips descend. "Sergio!"

It's easy then, just as it was the night they spent together--just as Sergio knew it would be. They'd kissed plenty that night, because Sergio liked kissing and it turned out Messi did too. It was the good, fun kind, the kissing that let Sergio know Messi was down for everything coming his way.

Messi still likes it, if what's happening now is any indication of his mood. His hands are spanning Sergio's back, pulling at his sweater and then curling into the hair at the back of his neck. There's not much else he can do, pinned against the sideboard the way he is, one of Sergio's legs between his thighs. And still, he gives as much as he takes, opening for Sergio's tongue, groaning into the kiss and making the most delicious sounds...

"Dude, what the fuck?"

Sergio has pretty much always hated Suárez--a typical center back attitude toward an opposing number nine--but has never hated him more than in that moment. Belatedly, Sergio opens his eyes, having not realized he'd closed them. Messi's disheveled against him, t-shirt pushed up between them and sweats dangerously low revealing the most tempting of hip bones. That's not to mention how red his lips are, or the near matching color now high on his cheeks.

"Luis," Messi finally gets out, licking his lips, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to leave you waiting." He starts to press a palm to Sergio's chest like he's going to push him back, pausing only when Sergio reaches down to fix Messi's clothing before stepping away. "I--."

"My fault," Sergio says, interrupting whatever else Messi was going to say. Mostly because it *was* his fault for being unwilling to wait for complete privacy. He turns to Suárez as if daring him to comment. "Sorry to crash your night. Just wanted to drop in and see Messi for a bit. Heard you're having pizza, though, so hope there's some left."

There's a joke there about how Suárez probably ate more than his fair share, but Sergio says it in his head instead. No need to piss off the best friend any more than he already has.

Suárez is wearing a ratty pair of sweats too, along with a plain black t-shirt. He looks between them and shakes his head. "It's fine," he says, looking back at Messi like he's trying to have some silent conversation at the same time. "I didn't mean to... interrupt you," he adds, looking curious when Messi just shrugs. Suárez rubs the back of his neck as he finds Sergio's eyes again. "Leo was just taking a while, and I was getting worried. Thought maybe he couldn't get away from somebody."

"That happen a lot?" Sergio asks, as Messi grumbles about something and walks past him into the other room. Sergio keeps looking at Suárez politely, even though he really wanted to look at Messi's ass in those sweats. But he knows there's time for that... "You have to come to rescue him? Knight in shining armor and all that?"

Suárez straightens slightly, crossing his arms defensively. "Well, he's too nice for his own good, isn't he," he says like he's feeling Sergio out. "Thought maybe I'd come out and end the conversation if needed." There's an insinuation there that Sergio's perhaps taking advantage of Leo's good nature, but Sergio still doesn't feel the need to engage.

"You ended something, alright," Sergio says lightly, kicking his shoes off next to what looks like a beat up pair of Suárez's Puma sandals. His elegant shoes don't quite fit in, but Sergio just shrugs. "No biggie."

"Are you two coming in here, or not?" Messi asks, sounding annoyed from the other room.

"Now you know how I felt!" Suárez throws over his shoulder. "Waiting while you were out here just making out all over the place. Good thing I came out when I did, otherwise you'd have never come back." He winks at Sergio and turns on his heel to follow Messi. "What kind of place is this where you just leave your guests for hours on end?"

Sergio is left with the feeling that Suárez is happy to see him, which is truly puzzling, especially since he thought the hatred was mutual. But he's not about to ask questions, because Suárez being on his side is potentially a very good thing and could be quite useful in the future. He's fairly sure that Cristiano never quite won over the Uruguayan, actually. Feeling lighter, he simply follows Suárez into the next room.

Messi is sitting cross-legged on the couch in what was probably his previous seat, a plate in his lap and a beer in his hand. There's a half-eaten piece of pizza along with a few crusts and a few chips scattered on the plate, and he makes a face as Suárez collapses on the couch next to him. "What kind of guest complains so much? Besides, it was one kiss," Messi mutters, not looking at either of them as he takes a sip of his beer. "I was gone for like two minutes."

"One good kiss," Sergio adds, not sure whether or not he should feel insulted.

Suárez just laughs, reaching for his plate and then pointing to the closed pizza box on the table next to bowls of chips and pretzels. "There's enough for you," he says to Sergio. "Beer in that fridge and water in that one," he adds, as he takes a bite of his slice and indicates two mini fridges next to the table. "Plates and napkins right there behind you, since Leo is apparently useless."

Sergio grabs some of everything and settles down into the empty space beside Messi. "Pizza sounds good," he says, opening the box and taking two slices. "That kind of day." Like them, pizza is definitely not on his diet, but he doesn't give a fuck at the moment. Pizza and beer sound amazing.

And then a little fun later on.

Hopefully.

Messi makes a noise of agreement beside him, shifting slightly. "We don't have to talk about it," he says, knee brushing Sergio's leg. It's either accidental or on purpose, but Sergio likes to think it's on purpose. Messi then leans back against the couch cushions. "Unless you want to talk about it," he says quietly, and Sergio knows he means it. "We can probably be objective."

Suárez doesn't say anything on Messi's other side, but Sergio has no desire to talk about it in front of him at all. Maybe if it were just Messi, alone. "I'm good. It's fine. I've got pizza and beer and don't want to think about anything," Sergio says, helping himself to some pretzels. He looks over the television to see what they're watching, searching for a neutral topic of conversation. "Nice flowers though," he says with a smirk, when he sees two more vases with lilies on either side of the entertainment center.

"Fuck you," Messi says instantly, though it's without a sting and there's a smile flirting around his lips. "What did you think I was going to do with them? Leave them in the locker room?" He reaches over and smacks Suárez's thigh as his friend bursts out laughing. "I gave a lot of them away. And there were still so many!"

"It's true," Suárez adds, leaning around Messi. "You should see his bedroom. It looks like a florist's shop." He throws his head back and laughs and laughs. "Oh, man. Took ages to haul all those vases up there. I wanted to put them all around the house, but no, Leo wanted all of them arranged a certain way and we had to do it his way."

Sergio, who had been about to ask why Suárez was in Messi's bedroom, bites his tongue. He likes the idea of all the flowers up there, where Messi can see them every morning and every night. "Well," he says, smiling as Messi's diminishing blush makes a reappearance, "they were for him to do with as he pleased. Only the very best for my Valentine," he adds as Suárez laughs again.

Messi shakes his head, but he's smiling. "I did like them," he insists. "Geri thought it was hilarious. And it was!" He shakes his head again. "I didn't expect anything like that. At all. But I liked flowers a lot."

"And the candy," Suárez prompts.

"And the candy," Messi repeats.

"And the balloons," Suárez prompts again.

"And the balloons," Messi repeated obediently.

"And the stuffed bears," Suárez says, barely able to get it out without laughing. "And the bouncy balls. And, and, and--"

"I liked it all, okay?!" Messi says in a rush. "God, shut up. Stop talking. You're the worst. Aren't you done your pizza yet? You're taking forever," he hisses at Suárez as he bites ferociously at one of the crusts on his plate. "If you don't behave, you can take your food and go!"

Sergio is absolutely in favor of that idea, watching with delight as Messi shifts over toward Sergio's area of the couch in his rage. "You live next door, don't you?" Sergio asks, taking a bite of his pizza. It tastes really, really, good and he has to force himself to slow down to savor it. "Short walk," he adds after he swallows, smiling calmly at Suárez.

A little needling is allowed, surely?

"Yeah," Suárez confirms. "Really short walk." He takes another bite and then smiles back, with cheese stuck in his teeth. "Means that I'm back and forth all the time. Any time I want, whenever I feel like it." He takes a sip of his beer and smiles again. "It's really great, living so close to Leo. Since we're such good friends and all," he says pointedly.

Messi mumbles something that Sergio doesn't catch, focusing on whatever's happening on the television screen as opposed to directing his words toward either one of them.

"What's that, Leo?" Suárez asks, taking one last bite of the slice on his plate. He throws the crust onto Leo's plate aimlessly, the gesture speaking loudly of their familiarity if the other crusts there are any indication. "Something about blue balls?" he asks crudely, starting to smirk.

"I said, good friends, my ass," Messi mumbles, this time loud enough for all of them to hear.

Sergio laughs, amused by Messi's attempts at feistiness. The comeback is weak, and so is the sentiment, but it's helping him round out his picture of Messi into something a little fuller. It's one thing to see his behavior on the pitch or amongst a group of footballers, but altogether another to see when he's comfortably relaxing in his own home with his friends. Or bickering with his friends, as the case might be.

Suárez laughs too, likely used to Messi's attempts at banter. "Alright, alright, I'm finished. And I know where I'm not wanted." He steals a chip off Messi's plate and then chugs the rest of his beer. "I'll see you tomorrow. Enjoy the rest of your night, I guess," he says, mock pouting. "Don't blame me if the next time you invite me to dinner I don't take you up on it."

Messi looks up then. "Luis--," he says, sounding apologetic. And Sergio can tell that he's truly sorry.

"Leo, I'm kidding. It's fine. I understand, I promise." Suárez says, waving a hand. "Don't worry about it." He takes his plate and sticks it on the table. "But I'm not cleaning up and I'm also helping myself to some of your Valentine candy," he adds as he walks by. "Ramos, see you next week sometime, I guess," he says, slapping Sergio's hand. "I hope you'll understand if I kick your ass."

"We'll see," Sergio says. "Enjoy your short walk." He's trying not to smile too much, but he's extremely happy by this turn of events. "Eat a ton of candy too. Between you and me, I hear that's good for your game." Suárez laughs and lets himself out, not bothering to rise to the taunts.

Then it's just the two of them and the television.

Messi moves into the space Suárez had occupied, putting his back against the armrest and stretching his legs and bare feet down in Sergio's direction. He stuffs a pillow down behind his back. "I feel bad," Messi reveals, chewing on Suárez' discarded crust. "I invited him over, after all."

Sergio doesn't feel bad.

"He didn't seem to mind. Good friend and all," Sergio says instead of saying that out loud. "He does really just live next door. It's not like you're kicking him out and he has a long drive back to his place or anything." He pauses and takes a sip of beer, enjoying it immensely. "Besides," he adds after he swallows, "he said he understands. And you said you told him everything about what happened between us."

"Mostly everything," Messi says, blushing again.

Sergio's fascinated by that blush. Messi's complexion seems to betray his every thought, and Sergio fully intends to take advantage of that. He takes another sip of his beer to wet his throat. "You keep saying that," he says, noting with interest the way Messi's toes are curling into the sofa. He can't help reaching out to brush a fingertip against one of them, smiling as Messi instinctually pulls back. "What didn't you tell him then?"

Messi laughs quietly. He tosses his plate onto the table, ignoring the way his napkin falls onto the floor. "Just... not everything." His eyes flick to Sergio and then over to the television again. "Nobody ever needs to know *everything*."

"The good everything, or the bad everything?" Sergio presses curiously, watching as Messi relaxes further against the couch. It's funny how much the action elongates his body, makes his legs appear so much longer than the short little things Sergio knows they are... The strip of skin is showing at his waist again, and Sergio's fingers twitch. "Leo?"

Messi turns back to Sergio like it costs him effort, slowly blinking. "There wasn't anything bad, Sergio. Was there?" He rubs his face, seeming tired. "I just meant, I didn't feel the need to share every single detail... Some things are private." He tilts his chin to the side. "You don't tell your best friends everything, do you?"

"Of course I don't, but... You would do it again, then?" Sergio asks, finishing his beer and setting it on the table with his place. He hasn't quite finished his pizza, but cold pizza is just as good as hot in his opinion. And there are other things that deserve his attention. He reaches for Messi's foot again, this time carefully grasping the ankle and then putting it on his lap. Messi lets him, so Sergio does the same with the other foot. "Do it again, and keep it to yourself?"

Messi's eyes are darkening. "Should it be a secret then? Is that what you want?" He doesn't move as Sergio starts to rub the heels of his feet. "You probably should have thought about that before you sent all those gifts to the locker room... Everyone knows I'm not with Cris any longer, so all you did was create questions. Constant ones, may I add."

"Fair point," Sergio says, working his fingers along the bottom of one of Messi's feet. He looks down to see it's the left one--the magic one--and secretly hopes some of its talents rub off on him. Wishful thinking, he knows, but stranger things have probably happened somewhere to someone. "I told Luka. And Celo," he admits, wanting to set things straight. "You're not my dirty little secret."

Messi opens his mouth and then shuts it. "Oh," he says, apparently not having expected that. "Well, good. But, still, I like to keep things private. You understand, right? As I said, I didn't tell Luis everything, and I didn't tell anybody else anything. Some things I like to keep to myself."

Sergio shrugs. "I'm not looking to make waves, or trouble, or whatever," he says, pressing his fingers around Messi's ankle now. "Nobody has to know, like I said. But I wanted to tell them. Probably like you wanted to tell Suárez." He tilts his head in thought. "Not that we should tell Geri right away, though. Maybe break it to him gently in a few months?"

"A few months?" Messi repeats, still looking tired, but smiling. "I admit, I didn't expect to see you again so soon. You said one night of fun and that's all I thought would happen. Because it was fun, Sergio, and I definitely needed it... I can't believe I'm saying that," he adds quietly. "But now you've sent me a fortune in flowers and you've appeared at my door without warning... You're awfully sure of yourself."

Sergio smiles back. "Maybe I am." He winks at Messi, starting on the other foot. "Or maybe I just know a good thing when I find it." He pauses to wiggles his eyebrows. "You're the good thing, by the way. In case that wasn't clear." He knows Messi's not an idiot, but there's something in Messi's eyes that says it, in fact, wasn't clear. "I don't see any reason why we can't continue this. See where things go. Have some more fun when we can get together. You, above all others, understand this kind of life, and honestly, that's fucking rare."

"Of course I understand," Messi says softly. "It's just so strange to think that you'd... The thing is, you're very..." Messi says, stopping and starting and trailing off almost immediately. He tugs on his ear again--a habit that Sergio would love to break him of. Then again, it's like Messi's blush--an instant indication of his feelings and pretty helpful in the grand scheme of things.

"Devilishly handsome? Incredibly sexy? Fucking hot?" Sergio suggests, working the arch of Messi's right foot like he has something to prove. Maybe he does. So he will. "Let me know if I guess right," he teases, watching as Messi tries to think of what he wants to say. Sergio wants things to be easy between them, but he's willing to wait while Messi figures it all out.

Messi shakes his head. "Blunt, I was going to say. Or... Forthright. It's strange to me." He takes a deep breath, still processing things. "Geri's like that sometimes. So unafraid of what other people think, or uncaring of the consequences. I've always rather admired the trait, even if I don't possess it myself. Takes courage." There's something else unspoken there, if the way Messi bites his lip afterward is any clue.

But Sergio knows already.

"And Cris, too," Sergio says calmly, saying his friend's name like he isn't the elephant in the room. "Cris is like that, of course." There's a part of him that knows he shouldn't bring it up, but he's never been a coward and he isn't going to start now. "Maybe they got it from each other at Manchester United back in the day," he suggests, carefully watching Messi's eyes for any sign of distress. This isn't going to work if they just pretend Messi's relationship with Cris didn't exist. Granted, Messi's gotta move on entirely, and Sergio's going to certainly help him do that.

Messi doesn't give anything away, though. "Then where did you get it?" he asks, flexing his foot as Sergio's hands start to rub the ankle. "Spend too much time with them?"

"I've always been confident," Sergio says, moving the conversation in a different direction, feeling like he's dodged something. "If you hadn't noticed that, you should work on your observation skills. Confidence is key, you know. Gets me a lot of things I want. Like you. And some might say it's sexy too," he adds, finishing up with Messi's ankle. He sets the foot back down on his lap, but keeps his hand on Messi's leg. "But you know all about sexy, don't you?" He starts sliding his hand up Messi's calf, under the sweatpants, thumb moving slowly back and forth.

"That's one of the worst lines I've ever heard," Messi reveals, watching as Sergio's hand moves further up his leg, baring more of his pale skin to the air. His foot, then ankle, then shin are revealed in all their glory. "Really, Sergio, you should probably lose that one." His tone is casual, but gooseflesh is breaking out over his body again--just as it had that night in the bar. "I expect much better from someone like you."

"You know what you should lose?" Sergio continues, reaching Messi's knee and letting his fingers caress the underside. He can't help but remember the last time his fingers stroked the same spot. It was followed by the most incredible pleasure, and Sergio's eagerly anticipating the same tonight. He needs it after this weekend, needs to lose himself in Messi again. He thinks Messi's ready for the same. "Do you know, Leo?" he asks again, moving his fingertips back and forth, forcing himself not to do anything more.

"You're going to say these sweats, are you?" Messi interrupts. "Admittedly, that's a better line. A little cliche and all, but still better." He spreads his legs a little further, looking up at Sergio through his lashes with interest. "Although, honestly, right now, you don't need any line at all." He stretches his arms up and behind his head, the action causing his t-shirt to skim upward and reveal that tempting sliver of belly. "I think it's pretty clear I'm a sure thing right now, no?"

"Leo," Sergio says, eyes going Messi's hipbones and fluttering strip of stomach, his desire spilling out of him despite his attempts to stay calm. His fingers skim the bottom of Messi's thigh, enjoying the way Messi gasps a little under his touch. "Lose the sweats."

**Author's Note:**

> Need to see how I feel after el clasico lol.


End file.
